


Hold On Tight

by ObscureFrost



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Gals being pals, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Neurodivergent Claudette, clown being an asshole, handholding in the face of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureFrost/pseuds/ObscureFrost
Summary: All a person needs, sometimes, is someone who compliments their weaknesses. It might be cruel and dark in the Entity's realm, but it's not lonely.
Relationships: Claudette Morel/Meg Thomas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Hold On Tight

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to skip Clown being a creepy asshole, just go to the last paragraph of Unwelcome advance.

In the Beginning

The fog was particularly oppressive today, and not by any fault of theirs. The looming moon was barely visible above, and they’d had to navigate to generators by their flashing lights above, creeping through the underbrush with a growing feel of unease. Meg had almost had a heart attack when she’d literally tripped over Claudette in the dark, both of them using the cover of the rocks to make their way into the storehouse where there was always a generator. They’d conversed briefly, in tight, short whispers. It had to be a stealthy Killer, and that could only mean it was the Wraith. 

Meg pulled herself through the window, head on a swivel, but didn’t see any movement, and waved Claudette through after her, crouching down to get to work. They were halfway finished when a different generator roared to life. There hadn’t been any screams yet, no indication anyone had been found. Either the team was being especially sneaky, or the killer was incredibly unlucky. Claudette looked like she was going to be sick from the stress. The unknown was always worse than facing what you knew, and Meg took her hand in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture, not a giveaway that she was nervous too.

The rest of the trial was eerily quiet, interrupted only by the rapid completion of generators, and skeptical whispering when they ran into Jake, who hadn’t seen a killer either. They had powered the gates, scouring around through the chests, using this odd trial to restock supplies, and gossip a little. They had never been in a trial like this before, easy and quiet, and they didn’t feel like pushing their luck, so Dwight opened the door and gestured for them to leave, leading the way.

Claudette took Meg’s hand before they stepped through the barrier. 

Situation Normal

Trapper trials were always punishing, a test of wit as much as endurance, pushing through the pain and trying to choose the best route to escape, the route least likely to be filled with hazards. Meg’s legs were screaming. She had taken the pressure off the others best she could, but she was losing steam fast. She’d gotten lucky getting out of that trap as fast as she had, but now it was a matter of luck, if the Trapper saw the trail of blood she’d left when she’d crawled her way into the tall grass. He was looking for her, head scanning the area, and for a moment, she thought he’d seen her, when a generator lit up on the other side of the map, he abandoned the chase to hunt down someone else. 

The relief was instantaneous, as was the guilt that she hadn’t kept him away longer. She groaned, pulled herself upright, gingerly testing her weight on her leg. It held, barely, and she limped off through the winding trees to find a generator. 

Claudette met her there, a worried expression on her face and a medkit in hand. Claudette made quick work of wrapping her leg, securing gauze, handing her a few leaves to chew to help numb the pain. Meg had to hold back tears as she worked, but when she was done, Claudette reached over and held her hand for a few moments, before Dwight screamed in the distance, and she rushed off to let Meg work on the generator alone. 

Another Lost Soul

Nea’s arrival was a cold shock to the easy camaraderie the others had built up before her. She was angry about this situation in a way none of them had even thought to be, so caught up with trying to survive, to figure out what rules bound them here, and their confusion seemed to only anger her further. Claudette took it the hardest, her confidence in talking freely suddenly disrupted, unsure of herself, and fearful of causing upset. Meg did her best to assuage the fear. 

“She’s not mad at anyone,” Meg soothed, crouched together outside the light of the campfire, “she’s just mad at the situation.” Claudette hung her head in her hands, looking more miserable outside the trials than she was inside them.

“I can’t tell the difference.” Claudette muttered, muffled from inside the barrier of her hands, “I want to help, but I don’t know how, and she just snaps at me if I try.” 

Meg tugged Claudette’s hand away from her face, held it between her own. She didn’t try to look her in the eyes, knew it wouldn’t help, or impart sincerity the way she meant it to. Meg brushed her thumb down the length of Claudette’s hand, in a way she hoped was soothing, not annoying, or patronizing. 

“Sometimes,” Meg started unsure of herself, “even if they need help, people don’t want it. You’re doing the right thing, being nice. Nea just...doesn’t want nice right now. Her world doesn’t make sense anymore, and us trying to force it to make sense is almost worse somehow, like she’s the crazy one for feeling off balance.” She rolled her neck, shifting her gaze towards the fire. Nea was visible from where they sat, bouncing a knee, arms crossed. “For now, we can try our best to keep her up in trials. She’ll have to learn how to be okay on her own, but we can handle the survival stuff right? We’re good at that.” Claudette tightened her hand around Meg’s, and didn’t say anything.

It did get easier after that. Claudette took it less to heart when Nea snapped, threw her energy into trials rather than fireside heart-to-hearts, and the first time Nea pulled Claudette aside to thank her for her help, Claudette sent Meg a smile that sent her heart flying.

For the First Time, Alone

Meg didn’t realize at first, that Claudette wasn’t in the trial with her. It had never happened before, even with six of them now. She didn’t expect it to be a shock, but it was, as she pulled Nea off the hook and realized that Claudette wasn’t among the four chosen. She did her best to patch Nea up, but she wasn’t fast at it, and she cursed her slow fingers as she did her best to mend torn flesh. 

Somehow, even as Nea led them off to a generator half done, Meg felt very off balance, very alone. She couldn’t find the others the way Claudette could, and she understood now, why she’d spent the trial mostly solo, running from generator to generator, directionless. No Dwight, and no Claudette to unite the group. No one in this trial could find each other. 

She died on her first hook. Jake had tried, but the Hillbilly was ruthless and fast, and he’d needed someone to run interference so he could grab her, but Nea and Ace were too inexperienced, couldn’t know just from watching, if they had been close enough to watch, that he could never have done it on his own. He was cut down next to her as the entity’s spikes came down on her body, spitting curses and thrashing like a man possessed as she died. She didn’t ask, after, how the trial went for them. She could guess well enough. Nea pulled her aside, and apologized, which was nice. 

Claudette pulled her aside too, and into a long hug, whispered that she was worried. They stayed like that, wound around each other, until Claudette faded from Meg’s arms, pulled into a trial without  _ Meg  _ this time.

Meg sunk onto the log next to Jake. 

“I hate,” he muttered, “going into trials with the new guys.” Meg laughed, slapped him on the back, and settled into silent camaraderie to wait for their friends to return.

Alone, Together

Meg waited, staring into the fire, the voices of the others filling the air. Claudette had slipped away from the noise, into the shelter of the trees. Meg was trying to decide how long to give her alone, before she followed. The noise didn’t bother Meg, it was neutral input, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. Claudette’s absence however, did bother her. She needed the silence though, time alone, so Meg waited, let the voices wash over her. Feng and Nea squabbled good naturedly, Dwight and Jake were arguing with Ace over something she couldn’t quite parse. She wondered what Claudette would say about Nea and Feng, if she saw how closely they leaned together, knew she’d scold Jake for his insistence that breaking everything was a skill he had to pass on. 

The cold biting her side was hard to ignore. 

Following Claudette was easy, she always took the same straight line away from the fire. Neither spoke as Meg dropped down into the grass, sprawling out in a leisurely stretch to watch the unchanging sky. Meg was close enough to feel Claudette’s warmth on her side, not quite touching. The light from the fire flickered against the bark of the trees, random soothing patterns. They sat in silence, Meg’s eyes were drifting closed, lulled by the quiet and the warmth, when Claudette finally turned to her.

“Oh.”

Like she was surprised to see her, or surprised she had stayed. Claudette smiled, slow and bashful. Meg smiled back, reaching out for Claudette’s hand. She took it, and pulled her down into the grass next to her. They lay together, staring at the unmoving sky for a long time, hands entwined, the fire's light dancing on the branches above.

Unwelcome Advance

Some killers, it seemed, just weren’t interested in the Entity's trials. The Clown’s heaving laughs were nauseating, taunting,  _ unfair. _ He didn’t follow the arbitrary rules they’d come to expect. Though really, Meg thought ruefully from the hook she was impaled on, it was their own fault for thinking they should expect anything less from fucking crazed psychopaths. The Clown hadn’t left her to find anyone else. He was just standing next to her on the hook, leering at her, running his hands down her legs in a truly epic show of  _ what a complete asshole he was.  _ Meg had considered kicking him, maybe try to break a finger or two, but she knew his game at this point. If she lashed out, he’d switch from his hands to his knife, and as gross as it was she’d take the psychological abuse over the physical.

Today, anyway.

She could kill herself, get it over with. It’d leave the others at a disadvantage, but she’d be free from his wandering hands and his  _ fucking disgusting face.  _ But she was painfully aware that she wasn’t the only one at risk this trial. All women, Kate, Claudette, Feng and herself. If it had been the guys she’d have done it. The Clown wasn’t interested in any of the male survivors, hooking them and leaving them to dry like he was almost  _ bored.  _

Suffering a bit longer would be worth it if the others got out unmolested. She’d take his damn grubby hands all trial if it meant Claudette and the others didn’t get a single hair on their heads touched on their way out. It helped when three gens popped all at once. The Clown didn’t turn at all, uninterested and leering. There was only one generator to go for the exits to get power, when the Entity’s creeping tendrils lurched down all at once, Meg catching the largest one with a grunt of effort, curling her body in struggle.

The Clown laughed at that, pleased to watch her fight against the thing, taking the opportunity to stroke up the back of her thigh, and she did kick him then, nearly an afterthought in her struggle against the inevitable demise the Entity's tendrils sought. And the fucker did bring out his knife.  _ Predictable.  _ He didn’t swing at her the way she thought he would, at it took her a second to realize why. He wasn’t watching her anymore.

Kate and Claudette were at the foot of the hill, faces set in righteous fury, the last generator rumbling to completion in the distance. The Clown threw down a bottle, the gas burned against her eyes and throat, she coughed, and almost didn’t catch what happened next. Kate and Claudette were suddenly right there, charging up close, and the Clown turned, swinging wildly at Kate. He missed, and his lunging knife went right into Meg’s side. 

Meg screamed, unprepared, as in the same moment he pulled his knife free, Claudette pulled her from the hook, grabbed her hand and they bolted, Kate close on their heels. Meg almost didn’t make the drop from the side of the hill, her vision going black at the edges as her shoulder and side burned in protest against the abuse, but Kate was at her back, pushing her forward, and Claudette was ahead of her, saying “The gate’s open, you can  _ do  _ this!”

And because Claudette had never lied to her before Meg believed her, pushing herself forward, following as best she could, the Clown’s screaming laughter right behind them as he chucked another bottle in their path. Meg heard rather than saw Kate take a slice from his knife, and she stumbled only for a second, and then Feng emerged from the trees, slipping behind to cover Kate’s back, and Meg could see the gate ahead, open and waiting. 

The Clown’s laughter didn’t sound pleased anymore, a frustrated wheezing instead of cruel mockery. Feng screamed out too when she was hit, but they were through, and Claudette’s hand guided her out the barrier, and into the safety of the woods. 

Meg was sick after, her guts turning inside out in the dark woods, a circle of support pulling close, muttering curses towards the Clown, thanking her for holding on. Meg was grateful they had stayed, that the Clown couldn’t get the satisfaction of watching her die. She told them as such, never letting go of Claudette’s hand. Meg felt clammy and cold, her thigh felt like worms had crawled under her skin. Kate looked at her with concern, Feng shot her a look like she understood all too well what she was feeling. 

“C’mon,” Feng pulled Kate away, towards the fire, “we’ll give you a minute okay? Let us know if you need us.” 

They were alone again, and Meg was so grateful for the grounding force that was Claudette’s hand, she almost wasn’t thinking when she turned her face into Claudette’s shoulder, and let herself cry. Claudette pulled her close and tight, didn’t protest when Meg balled her hands into the back of her shirt. Claudette whispered soothing nonsense into her hair, that she couldn’t hear over the sound of her own sobs, and Claudette guided her down to the dirt when Meg couldn’t support herself any longer, 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Meg confided, later when her breath had evened. She had hitched her knees over Claudette’s, but she hadn’t protested, so Meg hadn’t moved, tucked into Claudette’s side, safe. “It wasn’t even that bad.”

Claudette made a ‘tsk’ sound from her teeth. “Yes. It was.” If Meg cried a bit more after that, in the circle of her best friends arms, only the two of them had to know. 

Sight-lines

They were between trials. Claudette had found an important patch of flowers and Meg was on bag duty, carefully packing away everything Claudette uprooted. The others were in the distance, the other side of the wrecker yard, doing something destructive to the cars. It was what passed for peace now, and they were enjoying it while it lasted. 

Meg watched as Claudette pulled, gloved hands carefully separating clumps of grass from helpful weeds, and her heart ached a bit to watch. It shouldn’t tug at her heart, to see shoulder blades move under thin fabric, the sway back and forth that her hips made as she pulled. Meg felt a little guilty, drinking in the sight like a starving woman to warm bread and water. Claudette didn’t notice her watching, fully immersed in her work. Meg stayed silent at her side, soaking in the chance to be together.

It was hard sometimes, to run the trials. Meg did her best as a distraction, but it was lonely, scary work, being chased by a maniac, fully knowing she couldn’t expect backup until she was on a hook. She’d sunk into grim resentment over it before, cursing her fellow survivors for the easy task of fixing stupid machines. That was a long time ago now, but it was still a balm on old aches, to be here, with Claudette, who always looked for that extra opportunity to help later, who squared up to injuries Meg could only freeze in terror at the thought of.

The fear was worth it, if it meant they would be okay during moments like these.

They were in a trial. Claudette was tucked behind a wall, hidden by bushes where Meg had shoved her down and out of sight. It had been hopeless from the beginning, a stranglehold on the pace of the trial held by a relentless Pig, her traps forcing them to ignore objectives, to save themselves, even as the Pig cut them down, slaughtering them off the hook. They were the only two left, and they both had the devices stuck into their jaws, painful and insistent. At least they weren’t ticking. Unarmed torture devices, pulling at her cheeks, making her tear up if she let herself think about it. 

So she very carefully did not think about it. 

She watched Meg instead. She was easy to watch, bolting across the open field, playing bait. Claudette hadn’t wanted her to go, to sacrifice herself, but Meg wouldn’t be argued with. “Let me save you,” she had insisted as she pushed her out of sight, “If I can’t save us, let me save you.” So Claudette had gone, heart constricting painfully when Meg tried to smile at her, red braids vibrant in the moonlight, trap contorting her face, Claudette couldn’t help but find her beautiful.

Claudette closed her eyes when The Pig popped up behind Meg, knife swinging. She cursed the sound of the hatch opening a moment later, even as she jumped through. 

Parley

The Wraith was doing the  _ thing  _ again, and Claudette couldn’t help the hopeful smirk that slid it’s way onto her face. Sometimes he did this, stood somewhere, invisible, refusing to participate. She wished more killers were like the Wraith, even if she didn’t know why the Entity put up with it. It was a good chance to find useful things. She was ignoring the generators, not feeling particularly rushed, she made a beeline for the basement, and the chest within. 

She didn’t notice the shimmer in the corner until she was already elbow deep in the chest, and it was old instinct that kept her from freezing up, from abandoning the chest in a desperate rush. She’d never  _ found  _ the Wraith before when he was in one of these moods, and she wasn’t particularly inclined to test his goodwill. So she finished rummaging through the chest, trying very hard to act as if she hadn’t seen him. The shimmer was gone, so he was standing still again, in the opposite corner, nowhere near blocking her exit. Claudette thought very hard, very quickly. The chest had contained a flashlight. Not her favorite, but useful for someone else. An item the Wraith  _ hated.  _ She picked it up, and decided to do something very foolish. Unscrewing the back, she dumped the batteries into her pocket. 

Very casually, eyes averted as if that would be less likely to piss him off, she walked to the corner she had seen the Wraith, and dropped the flashlight by where she hoped his feet were. As soon as it was down, she turned and bolted, not waiting to see if it garnered a reaction, almost slamming into Dwight at the entrance of the shack. He raised his eyebrows in concern, and she made a ringing bell motion and pointed to the stairs. They didn’t waste any time leaving.

Later, when she told Meg about it, Meg had laughed somewhat hysterically. Had called her crazy, which was a little mean, but Meg had held her after that, in a tight worried hug that Claudette enjoyed too much to be angry, that lasted long enough it might be worth making strange offerings to murderous psychopaths in the future too. 

Meeting Place

Meg’s hands were rough and calloused, warm and steady in hers. Claudette couldn’t help but feel shy as the full force of Meg’s smile was turned to her. They had run the Clown around quite brilliantly, with the help of Jake and his clever toolboxes, the killer hadn’t made a single hook all trial, getting tantalizingly close to hooking his prey, only to have one of them jump in and break the hook in front of his stupid red nose. Meg was saying something, Claudette couldn’t quite understand it, too taken by the smile, but she was waiting for a response, so Claudette defaulted to smiling and nodding and Meg swooped in and kissed her and  _ oh,  _ Meg had asked, “Can I kiss you?” She got it now, and Claudette was a little behind, but that was alright, because she was kissing back and it was  _ nice _ . More than nice. She had been waiting for this, wishing Meg had kissed her before she had gotten killed by the Pig, wishing she had kissed Meg all those times they sat in the woods alone together, and now she was actually doing it. 

So Claudette reached up, secured her elbows around Meg’s neck and kissed back, flush with success, jittery and warm from the words “ _finally finally,”_ bouncing around her skull. And maybe Dwight was laughing at them a little, but that was okay, because it was everything she ever wanted it to be. 

She almost didn’t want to let go, but neither did Meg, and when they broke apart, they just stared at each other, and Claudette moved closer again, and this time when they kissed it was slow, deliberate. Neither of them heard Jake and Dwight leave and they stood together for a long time after that, lost in the revelation that this was allowed. That they could touch each other, and it was mutual, and so  _ easy  _ to fall together like they were meant to fall together forever ago. 

Stay

Things didn’t change much after that. They still had the trials, long punishing stretches of time apart, and short intervals of rest, to find each other again, put themselves back together again. It was easier, with human touch, with an unshakable ally in each other. They’d known each other too long to fight really. They curled around each other now, protective of the happiness they had found. Careful to give the other the privilege of their weaknesses, the room to grow their strengths. 

Their teamwork was proven, even though almost never saw each other in trials anymore. But maybe that was for the best, better not to be plagued by visions of the other dying. That was good enough, to know they’d be there for one another at the end. 

There was talk around the fire, of finding a way out, using their talents against the one who’d given it to them, insisting they take time to think about it, return to the discussion after they’d taken time to think about it. It was risky, trials might get harder, there might be repercussions. 

Meg whispered that night into Claudette’s ear, of a vision of the future, a warm house, sunshine, a garden, a well lit path for running, and Claudette had whispered back, visions of a fluffy dog, maybe a cat, some chickens, lazy breakfasts. 

They whispered together that the four of them had been there a long time, hadn’t really explained to the others how incredibly long they had been alone before Nea had arrived, opened the floodgates of new arrivals. How the itchy feeling their time was limited crawled up their backs with growing intensity each set of trials. How survivors had disappeared before them, it was a cycle, of teachers, of fresh recruits, and extinction of one, then the other. 

There wasn’t any reason really not to try, and Meg had wound her hand into Claudette’s as they agreed to help, and throw what little peace they had to chance. 


End file.
